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"Imagination"

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Sunbeams Illuminates my porcelain white skin: Skin soft as a red rose petal on a Sunday morning. Staring out blankly into the wondrous discolored sky, thinking of past problems throughout my life. Unfortunate break ups, lonely nights, and the death of my brother of unknown causes which just make me wonder even more. As my coffee colored hair sways in the wind, I move my chocolate brown eyes to a vehicle pulling in to the house next to mine. The dusty and rock infested driveway made the house like a shack. You can tell it used to be a light tan but with all the rainy days, mold and vines growing on the rotted siding eventually turning to the color of grey.
As I settle down on my old fashion white porch swing I stare at the blue 86’ GMC pickup slamming down on the brakes and parking it quickly, I watch a young man get out of his truck, shutting the door like it was the cause of his frustration. He looks at the little girl that is covered with rocks he splattered on her when he stopped his truck. His expression as he starts charging toward her reminds me of when a bull tries to rush threw a red cape the matador holds in his hands.

He grabs her arm and drags her to the front door, forcing the screen door open and pulling her inside while the door hits her repeatedly. Now I’m on the edge of the swing soaking in every minute of the scene I had just witnessed.

Should I say something to the police about what happened or is it even my business to get involved? Maybe I’m just taking it out of proportion of what happened. Maybe it’s not as bad as it seems.
***

Three days go by and I’m cuddled up on the porch swing again with a rose red blanket covering my legs and the book ‘Girl, Interrupted’ in my hands. I start pushing the white railing with my naked foot with pink toe nail polish. Then I hear a door close and it’s that young girl from a few days ago. She tall, slender and has blonde hair that flows in the wind as she walks toward her mailbox. Grasping the mail in her right hand and bending down to pick up a sunflower from the soil with her left, I notice her neck is covered with bruises and red marks all over. Between my age and the lack of experience of dealing with a situation like this I wonder if I should interfere.

“Hey sweetheart,” I shouted to her “Come over here.”

She turns to me and points toward her body, asking in a gesture if it’s her I’m talking too. I shake my head and she instantly began walking in my direction. When she approaches me, she keeps her distance and stood in fear, “Yes ma’am?” she mumbled.
“Baby, are you all right,” asking with concern in my voice, “Do I need to mention the incident I saw a couple of days ago?”
She just stood there, picking at the sunflower and waiting it seemed for me to just give up on asking her questions and let her go back to that run down rotting house she lives in.
“Well Honey? Do I need to say something to your father,” I ask again.
“No ma’am, actually he is my brother and well I didn’t sweep the porch. I kind of forgot to and he got angry. But no Ms. Mulberry, I’m completely fine,” she finally answers knowing I wasn’t going to give up on getting information out of her. But what caught me off guard was when she called me by my name.
How did she know my name? I know I never told her who I was when she came over to me.
Not asking anymore questions, not even how she knew my name, I shake my head and let her scurry back over to her house and in threw her door. As I watch her slowly shut the front door, our eyes met and I the feeling came across me as if I knew her from somewhere.
Where did I know her from? Who does she remind me of? Oh, maybe it’s nothing, maybe it’s just me again.
***
A month passes on by as fast as I could turn a page in my book and I’m back on my usual spot outside again. Finally, they come home together, get out of the truck together and shut the door together. He came around the truck with that same expression on his face just like the first time I had seen him. He reaches for a something metal in the back of his truck and grabs her by her hair throwing her to the ground and starts hitting her in her back with all the force she had. She starts yelling, squirming, and hitting back with all her might to get away from him. When he stops forcing the metal bar in her back, he stood up and pulls her by her arm until he got in the house.
My knuckles are white from tightening the side of the swing with my hands. What just happened? That thought went threw my head only once and I walk inside, grab my phone, and dialed the cops. Telling the cops everything I had saw, they understood and sped over here in a matter of minutes.
An obese white guy with a stash that looked like he had a bush on his face got out of the vehicle and asked me, “Ma’am who was the people in the argument?”
“Oh, they are in that house, that house right there,” I shout.
He walks over to the house, knocks on the door and when he did the door slid open. He walks in and outside looking around the perimeter of the house. When he got finished he starts walking over to me, “Ma’am, no one lives there”.
“Yes there is! I saw both of them! I swear Mr. um?” I say looking for his name tag.
“Mr. Slash.” He answers as if he knew what I was thinking.
“Okay, yes Mr. Slash, I saw everything. They were there.”
“Well, Ms. Mulberry, maybe they were just you know getting their stuff to move to another house, or maybe you misunderstood of what you saw, but whoever they are, are gone now. I’m sorry Ms. But I have to go take another call.”
I shake my head and watch as he drove out of site. When he was completely gone, that man walks out of the house and it looks like he is going to his truck. I start running over to him because all kinds of questions crowded my mind that I just have to ask him.
“Hey, you there,” I scream.
He looks up and who I saw was impossible for my sight to see. It was Trevor Mulberry, my brother. His features were still the same, the same coffee colored hair, same chocolate colored eyes, same dried out lips, same rough malicious hands and the same expression every time he came home from work. “How, what? No, your… your… your dead!”
He held up a silver hand held mirror to my face and when I looked in, I didn’t see that middle age women but I saw that teenage girl I had talked to earlier. That’s who she reminds me of, it was me!
So in to seeing me my reflection of when I was a little girl, I hear a gun shot and someone slamming down on the ground. I look down and see my brother covered in blood. I start stuttering like I had a speech problem and I back up from the crime scene someone made in front of me. But backing up to far, I trip over a log and fell on my back, scratching my elbows, and hitting my head on a couple of sharp shinny rocks.

Noticing a Derringer in my right hand, a sunflower in my left, blood covering my hands and my blue v-neck, I look up to the sky, oh the discolored sky.
As I watch a airplane uncover the sun, a bright light blinds my eyes and I hear a faint voice that seems to come from a man. “Ms. Mulberry, are you ready for your treatment?”
Puzzled, I don’t answer who ever it is. I just stare into the light, wondering who is walking toward me and come to realized I see the cop coming threw the door to which led to the room I was magically in some how. How did I get in this dark, enclosed room? How did I get on this hard, metal, uncomfortable bed? How did he get into t hat outfit? He was in a white suit with silver buttons on the torso, and plastic gloves on his hands. He reaches for my arm and helps me up to my feet. When I look down, the clothes I was wearing aren’t there anymore. White shoes, white cloth pants, and a thick white cloth shirt with my name Sara Mulberry now surround my skin.
“What treatment,” I finally ask.
“Oh, your treatment for the disease you have Ms. Mulberry. We are trying to help you get over your fears.”
“Oh, okay then. I guess it must have been a dream then. Thank you for helping me,” I say as I read ‘Mr. Slash’ on his shirt.
As he straps me to the hard, uncomfortable hospital bed, he asks “Why don’t you tell me about this dream you had?”





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